


The Pendulum And The Pool

by nwspaprtaxis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Common Cold, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Gen, Going to Hell, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Pain, Pre-Hell, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 03, Sick Dean Winchester, Swimming, Swimming Boys, Swimming Pools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a fate like Hell — especially with a fate like Hell — hanging over their heads, big brothers sometimes get scared. And their walls come down. But there's also little brothers and pools and a moment when things are okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pendulum And The Pool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mad_server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mad_server).



> **_A/N:_** So. Um. This is a crazy-insanely-belated fill for **mad_server** 's [Again but with More Colds: Another Sneezy-SPN-Boys Comment Fic Meme](http://mad-server.livejournal.com/56533.html). The [prompt](http://mad-server.livejournal.com/56533.html?thread=1874389#t1874389) for this one, given by Her Serverness herself, was: _Dean's all stiff and achy, maybe from an injury that's had him laid up, maybe from an intense sickness he's just getting over. Sam breaks into a pool and takes him in for some unofficial physio/fever reduction. Even if you go the injury route, a lingering fever would be looove, as well as like, a measure of pale/dizzy Dean being supported by his Sammeh somewhere along the way_.
> 
> A bazillion smishes and thanks to **i_speak_tongue** for being awesome and giving this such a tender, loving, beta. Also, **mad_server** , I'm sorry this is so late and I hope you like it and it is somewhere in the ballpark of what you were looking for...
> 
>  ** _Disclaimer:_** Do not own. Am not making a profit. Just simply having fun with their psyches and returning them slightly more battered to Kripke and Co. and all that Yada Yada.

They make their way down the long corridor, the swirls of green, plum, and gold paisley carpet plush and thick beneath their feet. Dean’s still white and shaky, huddled up in Sam’s too-small gray hoodie and clinging to Sam’s elbow with one hand as he shuffles, curled over his still-sore abdomen. Sam shortens his stride and slows even further when he sees Dean’s other hand ghost over his stomach and hears a nearly perceptible groan escape his throat.

“You doin’ okay?” Sam asks carefully, stopping in his tracks.

Dean lets go of Sam’s elbow and slumps against the cream-colored wall besides a generic, ugly-ass painting of a seascape, his face pale and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

Sam bites his lip as he catalogues the two bright spots of color high on Dean’s cheeks and his red-rimmed eyes. He begins to second-guess his decision, worrying he’s pushed Dean too much, too quickly. “We’re almost at the elevator. D’you need to turn back?”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly.

“I’m good.” The words are a rough grunt. “We’re almost there, right?”

At Sam’s nod, Dean drapes an arm across his abdomen and pushes away from the wall. He toddles unsteadily, his center of balance slightly off-kilter as he hunches protectively over his stomach. Sam edges in close and wraps a hand around Dean’s triceps. Dean leans slightly into the hold and Sam shifts his grip, wrapping his arm around Dean’s shoulders.

The warm sweatshirt beneath his hands makes him think of heart attacks and dying and he shoves the thought out of his mind. _Dean survived_ , he tells himself. _He’s going to be okay_.

Soon enough, they reach the elevator and Dean’s sweating again. Sam watches his brother lean against the wall, looking small and young hunched up in the hoodie. The elevator is slow and when the doors finally, sluggishly, slide open, Sam helps Dean step over the slightly uneven threshold. He punches a button and they rumble their way down four stories to the basement level.

“How much further?” Dean croaks out, looking completely wiped as they descend. He coughs, not bothering to stifle his germs. The purple smudges of exhaustion surrounding his eyes look darker.

“It’s just across the hall,” Sam tells him, relieved he’d had the foresight to scout out the premises before taking Dean out of the room. He hopes it’ll give the maid time enough to change the sweaty, puke-covered sheets and towels, replacing all the linens. For a moment he entertains the thought of turning back and collapsing into a freshly made bed.

When the elevator comes to a sinking halt, Sam’s got his hand around Dean’s upper arm again, gripping just above his brother’s elbow, before the doors even shudder open. He doesn’t like the heat radiating from Dean, feels the low-grade fever even through the soft material of the sweatshirt.

He doesn’t mention it as he guides Dean across the hall to a glass-fronted door. It is fogged up on the other side, the room dark and clearly locked.

Sam lets go of Dean for a moment, allowing him to slump up against the wall. “Frigging fantastic, Sam,” he grouses, cranky and worn out, as Sam raises his hand and raps on the glass. “You dragged my ass all the way down here for nothin’.” He pauses, shifts, pulling himself a little more upright, and winces. “We had pay-per-view and room service, Sam. _Room service_. Did you even see what they had on the menu—” he trails off as there’s the sound of a lock unlatching and the door pulls inwards.

Sam tugs Dean’s shirtsleeve and leads him into the dark room.

There are no lights, save for a skylight through which murky, dusty gray light filters down, shimmering on the still surface of the pool. In the corner, steam rises from the gurgling hot tub. All along the edges of the pool, there are lounge chairs, lining the walls like specters. It is quiet and still and cool.

Sam turns to the petite lifeguard, meeting her worried gaze. Her long, tomato-red hair is pulled tightly back from a freckled face. “This is perfect,” he tells the girl. “Thank you.”

She nods tersely, clearly nervous. She takes a deep breath. “I could lose my job over this,” she says in a rush. “You have forty-five minutes before you need to clear out. There’re towels on that chair over there. Take them when you go. I’ll lock the door behind you.”

“Thank you,” Sam repeats fervently. “You have no idea….”

“Forty-five minutes. I was never here,” she reminds him sharply before turning away, her flip-flops slapping loudly on the wet tiles as she departs.

Dean lets out a low whistle. “What d’you do? Buy her off?”

“Something like that.” Sam flashes a smile, all deep dimples. “As it turns out, she’s taking literature classes at the community college and needed a little tutoring. I told her I’d help.” Sam goes to the nearest chair and begins pulling off his overshirt and t-shirt, sitting on the plastic webbing to kick off his boots. He stands, shucks off his jeans, and he’s down to his boxer shorts and undershirt.

“C’mon, what are you waiting for? Strip down,” he tells Dean as he goes to a low, wide, white bin. He opens it and finds green and pink Styrofoam noodles. He digs through them until he finds two green ones that don’t have bite marks or chunks missing out of them and tosses them into the pool where they land with a dull slap before returning to Dean.

Dean’s managed to take off his sweatshirt but hasn’t made a move otherwise. Sam crouches before him and begins unlacing his brother’s boots and eases them off.

“What if I become something we hunt?” The question is asked so softly Sam is almost sure he’d imagined it.

Sam looks up, meets Dean’s sad, terrified gaze. “You won’t,” he tells his brother confidently.

“But _what if_?” The question is persistent, desperate.

Sam exhales and rises. He straddles the lounge chair parallel to Dean’s but keeps his body turned towards his brother as he stares out at the too-blue pool with the almost-silver ripples where the skylight reflects off the surface “Then I’ll just have to find a way to save you.” He flashes a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. “You wouldn’t kill me last year when Dad told you to. What makes you think it doesn’t go both ways? C’mon,” he rises to his feet again. “What d’you say to a swim? We’re wasting time.”

Dean takes a shuddery breath, rolls his head around on his neck, looking up at the skylight and blinks hard. “I don’t wanna die.” His voice cracks and he presses his lips tightly together as he shuts his eyes, holding it all in.

“I know. I’m gonna find a way to break it. Trust me.”

“What if you can’t? I mean the fine print was pretty fucking clear on the terms and conditions. I clicked the ticky box, Sam. There’s no undo or backspace here.”

“Then I’ll just have to break you outta there,” Sam holds out his hand. “C’mon, bro,” he repeats. “We’re not going to solve it this second so we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

Dean takes Sam’s hand and uses it to leverage himself upright, wincing when the movement pulls on his abdominal muscles. “Yeah, okay,” he whispers.

Sam sits on the edge of the pool and after a moment, shoves off into the water. The shallow end barely reaches his hips. He dives smoothly underwater and swims to the deep end, acclimating himself to the temperature of the water. As he’d hoped, it’s cooler than the air, but neither cold nor uncomfortably warm. By the time he completes his lap, Dean’s sitting on the edge, the sad, defeated look still in his eyes.

“C’mon,” Sam repeats softly. “We aren’t going to solve it today and, well, you’ve still got a few months left. Might as well make the best of it.”

Dean swallows, nods, not meeting Sam’s gaze. “ _Carpe diem_ and all that shit, huh?” His mouth twists up into something that’s supposed to be a smile. And Sam knows how much of an effort it’s taking for him to pretend everything’s okey dokey — that he doesn’t give a damn about his fate dangling over his head like the pendulum in that Edgar Allan Poe story.

“Yeah,” Sam whispers. He holds out his hand, grateful when Dean takes it and grips it tightly as he slides into the water with a grunt. Once standing, Dean lets go and stretches his arms out along the lip on either side of him, tilting his head back and allowing himself to float.

He looks too much the way he did after his heart attack and the car crash, too much like a corpse in the grayish, pale light.

“Hey,” Sam says, breaking the silence and slapping the end of the pool noodle against the water, splashing his brother.

Dean lifts his head, simultaneously cracks open one eye and gives Sam the finger before settling back down again.

Sam laughs. “Dude. This is the kiddie end. Let’s go deeper.”

Dean tilts his chin, opening the same eye, looking slightly like a pissed-off tiger. He points to his abdomen and Sam can see the still-healing scar beneath the floating hem of his shirt. Dean tugs it down, concealing it from view.

Sam nudges the noodle towards his brother. “C’mon,” he coaxes again, flashing the puppy eyes.

With a grunt of surrender, Dean drapes his arms over the Styrofoam tube and Sam catches hold of the end, gently towing Dean around the pool.

“You’re not going to leave me be, are you?” Dean says at last, his voice muzzed and relaxed.

“Nope,” Sam replies good-naturedly, floating on his own noodle in the deep end, never going further than an arm’s length from his brother. “I’m the only one who gets to annoy you. And you’re not going to die, okay?”

There’s a beat.

Then: “Good.” There’s another pause, a hesitant breath and “what d’you say to room service and pay-per-view? I’m getting all pruny.”


End file.
